


tried to change the ending

by peterpan_in_neverland



Series: lyrically inclined [1]
Category: Never Have I Ever (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Like, Post canon, So much angst, based off of "cardigan" by Taylor Swift
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:41:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26278825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peterpan_in_neverland/pseuds/peterpan_in_neverland
Summary: She sighs and unzips it, pulling out t-shirts and jeans, creased where the folds had been, the angles pressed into the fabric. She has enough outfits to last her two weeks, and she puts the clothes away, methodically folding them back up and setting them carefully in her— Eleanor’s— dresser.She freezes when she sees the hoodie resting at the bottom of the duffle bag, three individually wrapped caramel candies sitting in the hood. She pulls it out, hands shaking, and runs her thumb over the stitching, digging her nails into the pattern.God.--OR; Devi looks back on the track of her and Ben's relationship
Relationships: Ben Gross/Devi Vishwakumar
Series: lyrically inclined [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1909363
Comments: 11
Kudos: 37





	tried to change the ending

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flashlightinacave](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flashlightinacave/gifts).



> Hi. So. I feel the need to explain myself.
> 
> This is a fic based off of a song-- "cardigan" by Taylor Swift, from her new album "folklore" the lyrics will all appear in bold. I do not own the lyrics (apparently Taylor gets kinda sue-y sometimes so I'm not taking ANY chances) and only some of the lyrics appear, because I had to have a somewhat plausible plot. The lyrics may also be slightly altered, by the way, because they had to fit in with the POV and the tense that I write with.
> 
> Anyway, leave a kudos and a comment if you enjoy, I will love you forever.

New York was the answer. 

Eleanor has been very adamant about it, listing the positives about moving to the city, waxing poetic about the incomparable feeling of standing in the bustle of Times Square—  _ “it’s easy to fall in love in the concrete jungle, Devi,”  _ she had said, and Devi had started packing the very same night. 

It didn’t take much to convince her, in retrospect, now that she is standing outside of Eleanor’s apartment building. 

She looks down at herself—  **vintage tee** , a pair of Kamala’s old jeans, ratty tennis shoes, God, who  _ is  _ she anymore— sucks in a breath, and rings the buzzer. 

“Wong residence,” Eleanor says, and Devi snorts, rolling her eyes. 

_ “Wong residence,  _ really, Eleanor?” Devi repeats, and Eleanor sighs, dramatic. 

“Come on up, Devi, and don’t sass the homeowner again,” she says, and Devi hears the door to the building unlock. She heaves a sigh and grabs it, yanking it open and taking the elevator up to Eleanor’s apartment. 

Eleanor opens the door when she knocks and pulls her into a hug, immediately, her tiny, gingerbread-woman frame seemingly dwarfing Devi’s. “Oh, how I’ve missed you, Devi!” Eleanor shouts, and Devi furrows her eyebrows. 

“What kind of play are you starring in that’s making you talk like  _ that?”  _ Devi asks her, and grabs Eleanors shoulders, pushing her back a few steps. 

Eleanor has been in never ending strings or plays and Broadway musicals since graduating from Juilliard— a temporary role in  _ Hamilton  _ included— and she tends to pull vocabulary and speech patterns from her scripts. It used to bother Devi, listening to Eleanor speak like Linda Loman, but it has recently begun to grow on her. 

_ “South Pacific,”  _ Eleanor answers, smiles, her tongue punched between her teeth, “I’m playing Nellie Forbush.” 

“That feels…” 

“A little off? Yes, I agree… but I need work, and I’m willing to take most anything that will expand my résumé.” 

Devi smiles, one corner of her mouth turned up. “Never change, El, never change.” 

“I don’t intend to,” Eleanor says, and wraps her hand around Devi’s wrist, pulling her into the apartment. “You could’ve called me instead of buzzing in, you know?  **Brand new phone,** and whatnot.”

“It’s New York, I have to buzz in,” Devi argues, following Eleanor as she gives her a tour of the apartment, “it’s like, law, I think.”

“No, it’s not.” 

“It’s what they do on  _ Law & Order,  _ so I am accepting it as fact.” 

“God, I missed you,” Eleanor says, and stops in the guest room. It’s painted a pretty lavender colour, a dark red accent wall, cushy white pillows on the bed and gauzy curtains over the windows. There are vintage postcards in frames hanging over the bed, vases of orchids sitting on the windowsill, and doilies on the dresser. Devi loves it. “It’s not much, Devi, my apologies.” 

“This is like… the cutest guest bedroom ever, Eleanor, what the hell are you talking about?” Devi protests, setting her duffel bag down— the rest of her boxes will be here eventually, her entire life inside of them, clothing and photos and eyeshadow palettes, memories and hopes and dreams, over mail— and falls backwards over the footboard into the bed. The blankets are as soft as they look, cool and welcoming, and Devi sighs. 

(The last time she fell into blankets this soft was—)

Eleanor’s face splits into a grin—  **sequin smile** — and it makes Devi’s heart soar. “Really? I redid it last year after a Pinterest spiral.” 

“It’s beautiful, El, seriously,” Devi tells her, “I like the colours of the walls, it’s very you.” 

“Lavender and strawberry daiquiri,” Eleanor says, smiling ear to ear. Devi grins, and sits up, eyeing the vanity. 

**Black lipstick.**

* * *

_ Halloween, 2022 _

_ Sherman Oaks, California _

_ “Usually I’m against the stereotypical vampire costume,” Eleanor says, watching Devi put her lipstick on in her vanity mirror, and fiddling with the fake ruby necklace hanging low against her dress, brushing the bottom of her sternum, “but damn, Devi, this is… foolproof. You look hot, like, Stevie Nicks forest witch type of hot. I’m almost mad. Ben is going to lose it.”  _

_ “He better,” Devi says, rolling her lips in, then clicking her tongue, “I didn’t spend sixty two dollars on this costume for him to  _ not  _ lose it.”  _

_ “What are you going to do if he doesn’t?” Eleanor asks, and then laughs at herself, looking down at her feet. She’s dressed like that Vanellope girl from  _ Wreck-It Ralph,  _ homemade candy shaped barrettes and a bright green sweater. “That’s ridiculous, Benjamin always loses it when he sees you.”  _

_ “He does not,” Devi argues, high colour rising in her cheeks.  _

_ “He gasps and smiles every time you walk into history class, Devi, he’s gone for you.”  _

_ Devi scoffs, and touches up her lipstick. “Whatever you say, El, let's just… get back downstairs before my mom eats Ben alive.”  _

* * *

Devi gets up from the bed, and wraps her hand around the tube of lipstick, yanking a drawer open and throwing the lipstick to the back of it. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, Devi,” Eleanor says, “I didn’t even think about it.” 

“It’s okay.” She shuts the drawer, harder than she needs to, and turns away from the vanity. “It’s not a big deal. Really, it isn’t.” 

“If you say so, Devi,” Eleanor says, and slings an arm around Devi’s shoulders, pushing herself up on her tiptoes to kiss Devi’s cheek, a little clumsy. She can feel the lip gloss Eleanor wears leave a shiny, pink mark on her cheek. “I love you.” 

“I love you, too, El.” Devi squeezes her waist. “Like, with my entire body.” 

“I know.” 

* * *

_ Halloween, 2022 _

_ Sherman Oaks, California _

_ “You gotta wear this lipstick more often,” Ben says, pushing her up against his bedroom door, fingers pressing into her hips. His lips are working a hot trail down her neck as her hands pull at his belt.  _

_ “Why’s that, Ben?” Devi hums, then gasps when he nips against her pulse point, her skin between his teeth, and she knows he is going to leave a mark. They bloom like desert flowers against the dark of her skin, but she isn’t going to complain, anymore, especially not when he is pulling up her skirt and ghosting his fingers over the edge of her panties.  _

_ “It’s hot,” he answers, and pulls her underwear down, one handed, slipping two fingers into her easily. “C’mon, Devi.”  _

_ “I-It’s kind of hard to work black lipstick into everyday looks, G-Gross,” she argues, and pulls him closer, his chest crushing against hers. His fingers slow, and she groans, “more, Ben, please. Come on.”  _

_ “I will if you agree to wear black lipstick.” He presses his thumb against her clit, circling it, setting her veins on fire, her skin tingling. God, he knows her too well— they have been seeing each other for eight months, and sleeping together for five— and it scares her, a little bit, the easy way he makes her feel good.  _

_ “N-Not black,” she says, and he slows even more. She whimpers, however involuntarily, and pushes her hips into his hand. “Darker colours, I can swing, b-but not black, Ben.”  _

_ “Okay,” he agrees, and picks up the pace of his fingers, and she falls apart around him easily. _

* * *

“I loved him,” Devi admits, to Eleanor and the silence. 

“I know you did, Devi,” Eleanor replies, and scratches her nails over Devi’s scalp. She has that sad, faraway look in her eyes, and it snaps Devi back to Eleanor’s sophomore year play—  _ “like the picture of Jesus’s mother hanging in the museum”—  _ and Devi sighs. Eleanor only gets like this when her friends are hurting, and Devi wishes that she is better at hiding herself. Better at tricking Eleanor. 

Better at tricking herself. 

“Well,” Devi says, closing her eyes, listening to the gentle rattle of the air conditioning,  **“when you’re young, they assume you know nothing.”**

“They really do, don’t they?” Eleanor asks.

**“But I knew him,”** Devi whispers, to no one in particular, and wonders wishes dreams she could know what had changed. 

* * *

_ July, 2021 _

_ Sherman Oaks, California _

_ “Ben,” Devi says, a giggle high in her throat. He looks more than a little ridiculous, blue jeans and a white t-shirt, a stupid looking leather jacket—  _ oh, okay,  _ Devi thinks, and rolls her eyes, both at him and herself,  _ he’s dressed like a Greaser.  _ “Why are you dressed like Danny Zuko— especially in July.”  _

_ “I’m not Danny, David,” Ben says, and turns to the side. He has a candy cigarette tucked behind his ear, and Devi lets out the laugh, leaning over, tucking half her weight into her front door. He’s  _ **_dancing in his Levi’s_ ** _ up the front walk, spinning around gracefully, and she laughs harder, joyful tears pricking the corners of her eyes. _

_ “Are you… just, really, Ben? You dressed up like Kenickie, for  _ real?”  _ Devi asks, her eyes glowing. Apparently, this is what happens when they let Eleanor suggest movies for Devi and Ben’s date night— they watch  _ Grease,  _ and Devi let's slip that she’s always found Kenickie a little cute.  _

_ (“Cuter than Danny, at least, even though they all  _ really _ suck,” she remembers saying, and then Ben snorting, kissing her temple and pulling her body closer into his.)  _

_ “I had to capitalize on your celebrity crush, Devi.”  _

_ “First of all,” she whispers, leaning in towards him and wrapping a hand around his collar, pulling him inside. She shuts the door and presses him up against it, his hands falling to her hips, digging into her muscle. “Nick Jonas is my crush, Ben.”  _

_ “Aww, I thought I was your crush,” he pouts, bottom lip sticking out, and she rolls her eyes, leaning down to kiss a mark into his neck. “O-oh, okay,” he whispers, then tilts his head back, pressing it into the door. She feels one of his hands slide into her hair, and it sends electrified tingles all over her skin. “T-to be fair, Nick Jonas just felt too… juvenile. Plus, Kenickie was e-easier—  _ God,  _ Devi.”  _

_ “You’re right,” Devi says, her stomach dissolving into hopes and dreams and glitter every time he groans, his skin vibrating beneath her mouth.  _

_ “About N-Nick Jonas?”  _

_ “About you being my crush.” She feels his pulse pick up against her lips, and it makes heat thrum through her body, before Ben twists her around, pushing her up against the door.  _

_ “Had to turn the tables at some point, Devi,” he says, and kisses a line down the column of her throat. She moans, the sound pushing out against her lips, and feels his smirk pressed against her skin. “After all, a hickey from Kenickie is like a Hallmark card.”  _

* * *

Jet lag catches up to her too quickly. 

Her limbs feel heavy and weighted, malaise settling into her bones and her brain, and she falls into bed when it’s still light out, evening sun filtering through the curtains. It makes cloudy patterns shine on the floor, in monochromatic shades of pink and red, staining the rug and the edge of her comforter in the end of day glow.

Devi still feels like she is staying in a hotel— she is half expecting a free breakfast course in the morning— and hesitated when she sits up to unpack. This room is hers— however clean and metropolitan and… sleek— for the near future, there is no reason  _ not  _ to unpack. Plus, she feels almost obligated— to who, she doesn’t know— to unpack her duffel bag and make herself at home.

So, she leans over the footboard and grabs her duffel bag, tugging it up and letting it fall heavily on top of the covers, looking it over. Ben had bought it for her. She is not really sure why she kept it— actually, yes she is. Because there are no special memories tied to the duffel bag, there is no history with the duffel bag. And, it was expensive (she snuck the receipt out of his wallet, secretly hoping to pay him back, but had nearly passed out when she saw the price), good quality craftsmanship. 

She had needed a sturdy duffel bag when she left for college, anyway. 

(And Ben, too. Ben going to college and Ben laughing and Ben hugging her when she gets into Princeton and Ben leaving leaving leaving.

Ben, gone.)

She sighs and unzips it, pulling out t-shirts and jeans, creased where the folds had been, the angles pressed into the fabric. She has enough outfits to last her two weeks, and she puts the clothes away, methodically folding them back up and setting them carefully in her— Eleanor’s— dresser.

She freezes when she sees the hoodie resting at the bottom of the duffle bag, three individually wrapped caramel candies sitting in the hood. She pulls it out, hands shaking, and runs her thumb over the stitching, digging her nails into the pattern. 

_ God.  _

* * *

_ July, 2023 _

_ Sherman Oaks, California _

_ “This is reckless, David,” Ben mutters, his body pressed up against her bedroom door. She ghosts her lips along the underside of his jaw, the spot she can feel rumbling when he talks, and he sighs. It’s not like any sound Devi has ever heard before, coming, somehow, from deep within his chest, and the feeling of it sets her soul on fire.  _

_ His hands drop to her thighs, and suddenly, he is lifting her up. _

_ “Ben!” She grits out, dropping her chin to his shoulder and digging it in, just a bit too hard, her arms locking around his shoulders. “What are you  _ doing?” 

_ “Taking you to your bed,” he whispers, directly in her ear, and it sends a shiver up her spine. He starts moving and, oh, his hips shift, rubbing against hers, and she whimpers, embarrassing, holding onto him tighter and closing her eyes.  _

_ “Jesus, Ben, when the fuck did you get so strong?” she whispers, to distract from the heat curling through her body.  _

_ “I’ve always been strong,” he answers, too easily, and shifts. “I need to set you down now, okay?”  _

_ “Mhm, I’m not surprised,” she says, and then he stops, halfway through carefully moving her legs from his waist, “always knew you were a weakling.”  _

_ “What does that mean?” Ben asks, his voice dangerously low in his ear. She loves his voice like that, smokey and daring and full of want, coming directly from his chest, low timbre, something only  _ she  _ gets to hear.  _

_ “It just means you aren’t capable of holding me for long periods of time,” she answers, pulling away from his shoulder, and taking him in, the fire in his eyes and the set of his jaw.  _

_ He pivots, and her back hits a wall.  _

_ “What are you doing?” Devi asks, nerves and anticipation and excitement and something else running through her, all at once, a conglomerate of feelings that only Ben is capable of creating within her. It drives her a little mad, sometimes, his ability to work her up, to wreck her, but then she will catch a look in his eyes that reminds her that she is capable of exactly the same thing.  _

_ “I am going to fuck you against the wall,” he says, plainly, one of his  _ **_hands under her sweatshirt,_ ** _ tracing her skin, the other digging into her thigh.  _

_ Shock runs through her, but there is a thrill within her spine. “You really think you can do it?” she asks, knowing he likes a challenge, and watches his eyes glimmer.  _

_ His hand slips out from her sweatshirt to move into her shorts, and he slides a finger into her easily. She gasps, rocking into him, mind already spinning. He smirks, and she cannot build up the effort to be angry at him, because he starts moving. “I know I can do it.”  _

* * *

_ September, 2023 _

_ Princeton, New Jersey _

_ She is seeing him everywhere.  _

_ He is at bus stops and the back of lecture halls, the other end of hallways and the dark of her dorm room, blue eyes and billion dollar smile haunting her everywhere she goes. It is like he is  _ **_playing hide and seek_ ** _ , never ending, always disappearing the moment before she reaches him.  _

_ He isn’t even in New Jersey.  _

_ Fabiola had found out that he is at Yale, in Connecticut. He is going to go to law school after that, and, eventually, take over his father's position. Fabiola hadn’t needed to tell Devi what Ben is studying; she already knows, knows his five year plan, knows what he will be doing once graduates, knows that his Andy Samberg movie poster is hanging up in his dorm room because  _ she  _ had helped him pack it, carefully taking it from the frame.  _

_ She wants to set it on fire.  _

* * *

_ June, 2023 _

_ Sherman Oaks, California _

_ She, still, is not quite sure about how she pulled it off. Convincing her mom to let her stay at Eleanor's for an entire weekend is an accomplishment, in and of itself, not including the fact that she wouldn’t actually  _ be  _ at Eleanor’s.  _

_ She is staying at Ben's house.  _

_ It feels illicit. Criminal. Vaguely wrong, almost, to exist overnight in the same space as him, all over again. She hasn’t spent the night at his home since… since running away sophomore year and staying in the Doobie Brothers room. Ben had told her, later, that she made the entire house smell like jasmine and cherry chapstick.  _

_ And now, here he was,  _ **_giving her his weekend._ **

_ It was normal at first— they cooked dinner together and played music (”Hozier is ten thousand times better than Vivaldi, Gross.” “Maybe in the twenty-first century, David, but he was the king of the sixteen hundreds, and therefore, also the world.” “Utterly ridiculous.”) and watched a movie— but it feels wrong and jittery and awkward after the sun goes down, dipping below the horizon line and staining the chlorinated pool water a bright orange.  _

_ Ben is tracing a pattern up and down her spine, hands under her t-shirt, when she whispers, “this is so crazy.”  _

_ “What?” he whispers back, voice sleepy. She wants to laugh, just a little bit, that they are probably going to fall asleep together on the couch, instead of his bed. She doesn’t care where she sleeps, really, as long as he is holding onto her.  _

_ “That we’re… here,” she says, pressing her body further into his when his nails scratch softly down two of her vertebrae. The way he touches her is intoxicating— magical, almost, and she wants to fall into it, that electrically sparkling feeling, every time. “Like, together and happy and…”  _

_ “And what?” he asks. Devi can tell he is close to falling asleep. His hand is slowing, circling on one spot, at the base of her spine.  _

_ “And I just—just.” She feels like crying, and she isn’t even sure why. It feels like the end of everything, despite Ben going to Princeton  _ with  _ her. There is a nagging feeling, in the bottom of her gut, telling her to run away.  _

_ She is fighting to ignore it. _

_ She blinks, pressing her eyes closed and breathing out when Bend hand falls from her back. He’s asleep. It hurts her heart, a little bit, even though she knows he needs it. She needs it, too, if the yawn that makes her dig her chin into his chest is any indication.  _

_ He is snoring when she says, “I’m in love with you, Ben.”  _

_ “I know,” he whispers, and she startles, pushing herself up to her elbows and looking at him, ghosting a hand down his face.  _

_ “You faked being asleep,” she says, statement of fact, “you  _ dick.” 

_ “So mean to the guy you love.”  _

_ “Ugh, I take it back,” she says, even though she doesn’t, wouldn't, not ever, not in one million lifetimes.  _

_ “I know you don’t.”  _

_ “What makes you think that?”  _

_ “Because,” he says, clearly, a hand pressing into her hip, “because  _ **_I know you_ ** _.”  _

_ “Sure you do,” Gross.”  _

_ “I love you, too,” he whispers, eyes half lidded, and Devi dissolves.  _

* * *

_ August, 2022 _

_ Sherman Oaks, California _

_ “If you could have a million dollars every month,” Devi starts, taking a bite of her milk shake (chocolate chip cookie dough), leaning back in the passenger seat of Ben’s car, “or… ten thousand dollars everyday, which would you choose?”  _

_ “Well, you have to consider what that would do to the economy, David,” Ben says, looking over at her as he dunks a french fry in a plastic cup of ketchup. She pushes her eyebrows together.  _

_ “Ben, you don’t… that’s not the point of would you rather,” she says, stealing one of his french fries and poking it into her ice cream, “you can’t consider ramifications of that magnitude, otherwise you’ll  _ never  _ make a decision.”  _

_ “It would completely ruin the value of the currency.”  _

_ “It doesn’t  _ matter.” 

_ “It does if I’m trying to make an informed decision,” he argues, licking salt off one of his fingers, and it makes Devi’s heart spiral. He knows what he does to her, if the way his eyebrows shoot up is any indication.  _

_ “It isn’t about making an informed decision,” she argues back, pushing her hair out of her eyes and turning in her seat to face him. They’re still in the parking lot of the burger place they had stopped at, parked and talking, sneaking looks at one another and pretending not to notice when the others gaze lingers a beat too long. “It’s about going with instinct.”  _

_ “Okay, but, still, it would completely collapse the value of the dollar and—” she leans over the center console, pressing a kiss to his lips and knotting her fingers into his hair, her knuckles scraping his scalp and she sighs happily when his hand presses to her chest.  _

_ They don’t get to do this often— to sneak around and  _ **_kiss in cars_ ** _ is a little complicated, considering they are waiting to tell their friends, and Devi's mom is more than a little protective— so, when the chance comes along, they take it.  _

_ Ben breaks away, taking a deep breath— he told her once that she tastes like cherries every time they kiss, and it makes her wonder if he is thinking of it now— and says, “million a month,” sounding half breathless.  _

_ “What?” she whispers, and realizes she sounds just as winded as him. When did Ben acquire the ability to do that to her?  _

_ “The question— I pick the million a month.”  _

_ “God,  _ now  _ you answer.”  _

_ “You asked.”  _

_ “Shut  _ up.” 

* * *

She is not sure why it finally cracks her in two. 

She thinks, vaguely, that it is something small: seeing his favourite bread in the bakery, unpacking her boxes and finding an old bottle of his cologne, discovering little pieces of him everywhere, hidden in pages of her favourite novels and lying in the cracks in the sidewalk. 

She cries in front of Eleanor, finally falling apart, whispering, “ **he marked me like a bloodstain** .” 

“I’m sorry, Devi,” Eleanor whispers, a hand running soothingly over her hair, “but… I cannot help you if you don’t tell me what he did to you.” 

She lets it rip through her, splitting her atoms and ripping the nucleus of her cells; her body is exploding like an atomic bomb, her lungs filling with the smoke of a mushroom cloud, and she wants to claw her way out of this. Out of her body, out of the blast zone, the heartache.

“I-I just… where do I start?” 

“Start at the end, Devi,” Eleanor tells her, pressing a kiss to her temple, “it is always easier to walk backwards. 

* * *

_ September, 2023 _

_ Princeton, New Jersey _

_ She rereads the letter sixteen times after she finds it sticking out of her sketchbook.  _

We can’t be us anymore, and we can’t keep pretending this will last forever. 

I’m sorry, Devi

Ben

_ He signs it in print, like a coward, like he knows that his looping, beautiful cursive will break her heart. She hopes it’s fake, hopes it is a prank, until she tries to call him, and realizes he has blocked her number.  _

_ She stuffs the letter in the very back of her bottom desk drawer and stares at her hands.  _

_ How dare he?  _

_ How dare he do-do this, break up with her like this, lie to her, steal her comfort, her safety, rip it right out from under her. How dare he afford himself the right to haunt her freshman year of college?  _

_ He is  _ **_running like water._ **

_ (Ben leaving leaving leaving.  _

_ Ben, gone.) _

* * *

“I am going to kill him,” Eleanor says, uncomfortably calm, her voice even. It makes Devi feel supported and undermined, in the exact same moment. 

_ “Don’t,”  _ Devi whispers, voice wobbling. She hates that he can still do that, can still make her cry, can still shake her foundations. She has a college degree and a home with her best friend, her high school boyfriend— ex-boyfriend— should not be making tears spill freely from her eyes. 

“Why not?”

“He had a right to run.”

“Not like that.”

“Eleanor,” Devi says, softly, despite her full body desire to scream. To scream and swear and scrape her voice raw, wrecking her vocal cords and ruining her throat. “Let him  **haunt all of my what-ifs** .”

“Nick Jonas should be doing the haunting,” Eleanor says, “Not Ben fucking Gross, with the weak constitution and cowardly build.” 

“Eleanor,” Devi scolds, even though her heart is not in it, even though she is laughing. 

Maybe she is, after everything they have been through, after the test scores and kisses and insults and love, she is allowed to hate him. Even if it is only a little bit. Even if it is only a part of her. Even if it is barely at all. 

* * *

It is raining, the sun down and the stars out, their light bleached away by buildings so tall they touch the clouds, when the end of the beginning shows up in a tailored suit. 

Devi does not know why she answers the door in the lobby. She thinks it is habitual, pushing open the door after someone knocks, even though it is a bad habit. 

She opens it without paying attention, looking down at their mail— Eleanor has forgotten to grab it that morning, and there was a package waiting— and turning away from the door when she hears, “hey, David.” 

She goes cold, and turns, impossibly slow, locking eyes with him. 

_ So, so blue.  _

Bluer than the sky and deeper than the ocean and everything she has even fallen in love with. Impossibly blue. 

* * *

_ November, 2021 _

_ Sherman Oaks, California _

_ Blue eyes and Ben saying, “you know you’re my best friend, right?”  _

* * *

_ June, 2022 _

_ Sherman Oaks, California _

_ Blue eyes and Ben, lips tilted up, kissing kissing kissing her.  _

* * *

_ December, 2022 _

_ Sherman Oaks, California _

_ Blue eyes, and Devi whispering  _ I got into Princeton  _ and the warmest hug of her life. _

* * *

_ September, 2023 _

_ Sherman Oaks, California _

_ Blue eyes and Ben, hands slipping a breakup letter into her sketchbook.  _

_ Blue eyes at the start of the end of her everything. _

* * *

“What are you doing here?” she asks, and sounds breathless, and immediately feels on fire with anger and embarrassment and disgust and heartbreak and, God, Ben is making her feel this. Ben has broken her heart once before and he can do it all over again. She would let him do it all over again. She would give him the power, right here, right now, in an apartment lobby with scuffed linoleum tile, to scatter her pieces all over again.

“I… I missed you.” 

_ “God,”  _ Devi says, letting her face fall into her hands, fingernails digging into the contour of her forehead, thinking  _ I guess  _ **_I really did know everything when I was young_ ** **.**

“I wanted to apologize.” 

“I don’t want to hear it.” 

“Devi,” he says, and sounds close to pleading, “Devi, just listen to me.” 

**“I cursed you for the longest time,”** she hears herself say, watches his face drops, feels the red hot burning pride that shoots through her and realizes with a shock—

_ —she wants to hurt him—  _

— and she does not think that she could stop, now, even if she tried. 

“You  _ left!  _ You left without explaining and-and you just decided it was okay, you  _ decided  _ that you had the right to do that to me,” she says, the mail abandoned on the floor, her hands fluttering through the air, “you  _ lied  _ to me, Ben. You  _ lied.  _ **And now you’re standing in my front door light** saying-saying I need to listen to you? Saying you want to apologize, now that you have a college degree and a fancy fucking suit?” 

_ “Please?”  _ he begs, his voice weak, and, somehow, it makes her feel stronger. He wrecked her four years ago; he deserves to feel it, too. 

She thinks of old Arabic poetry, the kind her college room had in pristine leather bound copies with titles written in looping, gold Arabic calligraphy, and wonders, for a moment, if he would play the Devil. If he would kiss her eyes and repent. 

**“I knew you’d come back to me,”** she says, and every heartbeat, every moment, changes the temperature of her body. It is like being roasted over a spit; being rotated and burned evenly, her body filling with heat. 

“No, you didn’t,” he argues, flames in his eyes, the heat of a gas stove, and it stokes her anger, her body temperature skyrocketing, and she hears herself snarl before she even recognizes trying to make the noise. 

“You didn’t let me finish,” she bites out, and he takes a step backwards, halfway startled.

“I-I’m sorry.” 

“I knew you’d come back,” she says, and for the first time, all night, her voice shakes, “too bad I don’t want you.” 

She takes advantage of his silence and leans down, grabbing the mail and running for the stairs. 

She makes it two floors up before she buckles, falling, leaning against the wall and tucking her cardigan against her body, crying hot tears that make her cheeks sting with heat. 

She said she doesn’t want him back. 

Maybe, one day, she’ll believe it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you SO much for reading! Leave a kudos if you enjoyed, and a comment if you really enjoyed, they make my cat respect me. Thanks!


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